


Rule of Seven

by Jenova (Kat_o_nine_Tails)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Baby Castiel (Supernatural), Because you DO NOT PISS OFF ALISTAIR DEAN, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Breastfeeding, Crack Treated Seriously, Demon Dean Winchester, Fledgling Castiel, Lucifer (Supernatural) in the Cage, M/M, Male Lactation, Questionable Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_o_nine_Tails/pseuds/Jenova
Summary: There is a list of rules proudly listed in the Halls of Hell. It's a list of six rules only those too stupid to live would even think of breaking.Dean Winchester just invented the seventh.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens in my brain when it's been fried by too many midterm exams and they show that old anime Angel's Egg on TV. Mindfuck is what happens. Apologies to anyone who's following me for my other two stories, but Supernatural fandom broke into my house in the middle of the night and dragged me into the hunting life. Sorry.

In Hell, there was a list.

Well, alright, there were a lot of lists, especially if your job in any way, shape or form included dealing with Crowley, but there was one list, _the_ list, the one every demon ever created knew about. Even the old ones, though they pretended they knew nothing of it they still regularly checked their positions on it.

Namely, it was a list of the stupidest things you could do in Hell. Appropriately, it was called the Rules of Stupidity, and it proudly hung in Hell's entrance hall.

Nobody knew how exactly it got started but most agreed Meg was somehow to blame, though she expertly avoided getting any retribution for it. There wasn't much to do in Hell that didn't include torture in all of its various forms but with humanity's recent degradation there was an influx of young demons, and young demons sometimes had ideas. And some of those ideas were so unimaginably stupid the elder demons who hadn't cracked a smile in a millennia were suddenly laughing like mad. Literally, it was eerily similar to the laughter you'd hear in a madhouse.

There were six rules on The Rules of Stupidity, because in case you haven't noticed Hell was somewhat obsessed with that number. At first they changed constantly, but over the centuries they stabilized and could only be changed through extenuating circumstances.

Any way, they went something like this:

_Number 6: Do not make a Hellhound puppy cry._

Hellhounds were extremely protective creatures, more akin to bears in regards to their young than wolves. If you bullied or, Lucifer forbid, actually hurt a Hellhound cub, every single hound in Hell was going to remember it. Remember it for centuries. And they won't rip the offender apart. Oh no. They were smarter than that. Anyone in Hell could physically torture, but they… They were going to _ruin them._ Snatch their souls, ruin their deals, get them in trouble with the people further up on The List, and make your life, well, a living Hell. Even worse than it would be normally.

Logic would dictate that, after the first unfortunate soul had been made an example of, demons would stop doing it. Logic would be sorely disappointed. It still happened to this day, but it remained at number six because Hellhounds, though smarter than they were given credit for, were still beasts. There were far more imaginative minds up the list.

_Number 5: Do not say anything, negative, positive or otherwise, about Crowley's mother._

Ahh, yes. Rowena. The most powerful witch to have ever lived, according to some. A creature so twisted it didn't matter that her soul was still that shiny purple natural born witches had, as far as Hell was concerned, she was one of the demons. It was even said she had descended all the way to Lucifer's cage and made a deal with the devil. THE deal with the devil. The details of that varied from rumor to rumor, as it was obviously a private affair and the actual deal had never seen the light of hellfire, but Rowena had emerged stronger than ever and then proceeded to make her son's afterlife Hell. Well, more than it already was.

Their relationship was absolutely fascinating to watch. The amount of hate and love varied from day to day. Hell, from hour to hour! It was a fucking soap opera, and the worst of the gossipers sometimes even _volunteered_ to run errands for the Secretary of Hell just so they could hear what the pair got up to. Crowley even indulged them often enough, as it ensured he was never short on lackeys. But working for Crowley also meant you were at his complete mercy. And he had none.

Mention something about his relationship with his mother? Fine, something had to fill Hell's rumor mill. Mention something about Rowena specifically, even something as innocent as the color of the dress she chose that day? You were going to wish you'd gotten proclaimed a saint back on Earth and never stepped foot in Hell.

Like it was mentioned earlier, anyone could snatch you and tie you to a rack to have their way with you for a few years. At some point your soul became so ripped and tainted you figured you might as well relax and enjoy the ride. It's a very common problem amongst the torturers in the seventh circle. It just wasn't fun if the creature you're torturing was screaming in pleasure instead of pain and fear.

Crowley's specialty were microaggressions that accumulated so beautifully that the victim in question simply lost their mind one day over dropping a pen. It was psychological torture on a level no demon was ever trained to deal with. Alistair fucking hated him for being able to draw those beautiful screams from the victims he'd quite literally kicked off the rack for enjoying it too much. But more on that later.

_Number 4: Do not get within a mile of Sam Winchester when he was hungry._

The story of the Winchester brothers was actually written down on actual books and it was the hottest literature in Hell since someone dragged down a Bible. It usually burned demons, but the Bible in question was the one from the American Supreme court. Apparently so many people had sworn on it to tell the truth and then shamelessly lied right after that it had become so blasphemous it burned angels instead of demons.

Anyway, the Winchester brothers had been hunters back when they were alive. The Righteous Man and the Boy King. They were destined to fulfill a prophecy and bring about the apocalypse, except the little shits had decided to turn a middle finger to the whole thing and deny the two most powerful creatures in existence, second only to the Creator himself.

In accordance with the prophecy, Sam Winchester released Lucifer from Hell and said the deciding YES when their Hellish Lord wanted to cement their union. Everything was going according to plan. Until the younger Winchester opened the gates to the Cage and flung both himself and Lucifer into it. To add a cherry to the top, he pulled Michael along.

His screams could be heard all throughout Hell for nearly two centuries.

Until gradually they decreased in frequency, then one day stopped altogether. Then Sam Winchester emerged from the Cage, not exactly a demon but definitely no longer a human, and promptly _ate_ the first dozen demons he came across.

Sucked their essence right out of their bodies like a vampire sucked the blood out of their human prey. Then he primly sat himself on the throne of Hell, mouth still bloody and said if anyone had a problem with the current arrangement they were on the menu.

He didn't actually need to do that anymore, as he was able to draw power directly from Hell (or from Lucifer's spunk, because when he periodically returned to the Cage he certainly didn't scream in pain, but it was still not decided which one was it).

Still, he was prone to feeling peckish, and when he was you either got out of his way or you were eaten. They didn't know what happened to demons that actually got themselves killed but they were certain it couldn't be worse than being digested alive. So far no torturer had managed to do it in a way that actually replicated the effect Sam's stomach had on a demon soul, but Alistair was still experimenting.

_Number 3: Do not mention a certain human within Cain's extremely far-reaching earshot._

If you mentioned C-O-L-L-E-T-T-E anywhere Cain might happen to hear you, he wasn't going to torture you. Oh no. He was going to sit you down, make you tea, and proceed to tell you everything about her. EVERYTHING. From the moment he first saw her, every single detail of extremely complicated and convoluted Victorian courting rituals he had gone through to win her over and ALL about how much she loved bees and how he still kept a bee farm up on the surface in her memory.

By the time he got to the part about the significance of crushing the glove in the left versus right hand, most demons attempted to drown themselves in their teacups. When he got to the details of bee caring demons usually just stood up and impaled themselves on the First Blade.

Only one demon in existence had managed to sit though the whole thing, and though he was famous for a lot of other things it bumped him up quite a bit in the ranks of demons' regard. Not to mention he managed to convince Cain to turn him into a Knight of Hell afterwards, though the Father of Murder had sworn to never create another one after they killed his precious human. That took either mad skills or balls of fucking diamond. And Dean Winchester had both.

Speaking of…

_Number 2: Do not insult Sam Winchester within Dean Winchester's extremely far-reaching earshot._

When Dean Winchester first stepped foot in Hell as a Righteous Man, he did so perfectly unwilling, and stayed there for forty years. Until he accepted Alistair's offer of apprenticeship and broke the first seal, thus beginning the whole prophecy of starting the apocalypse. Then Michael descended from the Heavens and pulled his Sword from Hell's forge, intending to wield it as a weapon against his brother.

Yeah, we all know how that turned out.

Anyway, when his little brother took a swan dive straight into the deepest ring of Hell Dean Winchester was left all alone in the world. To say that didn't sit well with him was a major fucking understatement. As Sam had requested of him he'd tried to live a normal 'Apple pie' lifestyle, complete with a wife and a kid and a house with a pool.

He'd lasted a little more than a year, which Sam later admitted he was surprised he managed to hold out that long without killing anything. First he got back into hunting, then he was absolutely determined to get his little brother out of Hell. When he'd started making progress on Archangel-killing spell he intended to use on Lucifer (Crowley swore up, down and sideways he's had no idea there even was such a thing, much less how he'd actually gotten his hands on it) Sam, who'd already claimed the throne of Hell, went to find his brother and set him straight.

It spoke of his loyalty that the first time he told Lucifer 'no' was when the Archangel had told him to kill Dean. And it spoke even more of Dean's loyalty that when his little brother told him he was now ruling Hell as Lucifer's proxy, he'd retorted that he intended to have Sam by his side no matter what kind of packaging Sam came in.

Then he promptly marched straight up to Cain's doorstep and sat through the entire story about Collette. Cain was so fucking happy that he'd actually managed to get the entire story off his chest that he straight up adopted Dean, under the argument he was technically his great-to-the-power-of-two-hundred-and-forty grandfather. Went to Crowley to fulfill all the necessary paperwork too. And, of course, passed him the Mark that turned him into a Knight of Hell. Thus Dean Winchester descended into Hell of his own free will, and greeted his brother as a fellow creature of Darkness.

To make the entire story more epic, Lucifer was so moved by the love his own elder brother never held for him that he actually _shed a tear._

It was a terrifying sight to behold.

And so, Dean Winchester became his brother's second in command, leading his armies against whatever remained of Heaven's warriors. In a way, the Apocalypse had come to pass, except the pawns became queens and were now fighting on equal footing with those that had been their superiors at the beginning of the game.

As to _why_ it is extremely stupid to insult Sam Winchester within his brother's hearing, go ahead. If you're stupid enough to do it, you deserve a Darwin Award anyway.

And finally, the absolute _stupidest_ thing you could do, something that the juvenile demons were warned about as soon as their soul blackened:

_Number 1: Absolutely do not piss of Alistair… And then forget about it._

Seven is God's number, and making seven points on any list would be blasphemy as far as Lucifer was concerned. But if the number seven was allowed, the seventh Rule of Stupidity would be 'Do not piss off Alistair'.

About 90% of the time, he just grabbed you by the neck and used you as a subject in the experiment of replicating Sam's stomach acid. But sometimes, when he was feeling lazy, he didn't torture you. Instead, he got you in trouble with any of the aforementioned people listed in the Rules of Stupidity. It was like playing Russian roulette where there was a bullet in every chamber but the spin decided which part of your body would be shot.

If you were lucky, he got you on the Hellhound potty training duty. If you were really unlucky he'd mention you to Dean over drinks.

But you see, if you pissed him off and assumed you'd somehow gotten off the hook for whatever reason you'd better hope an angel descended from the Heavens and stabbed you straight in the face before he got to go through with whatever he was plotting for your demise.

The last demon to piss him off had been Asmodeus, and the demon prince, thinking he was above a mere torturer, had simply waved him off and continued to be a spoiled brat of the royal family.

It had taken Alistair decades to plan the absolute perfect revenge… To this day Asmodeus could be found in a straitjacket gibbering nonsense about rainbows and kittens in between bouts of drooling. That was when Dean had been knocked off the first spot, and Alistair had been elevated all the way from the sixth to first place.

Dean had been sore about that for a while, but even he had to admit it was funny so he didn't hold it too much against his former mentor.

And so life in Hell continued. The war against Heaven was going well, as new demons were being carved out of human souls every day, and with the Big Cheese missing the angels had no means to replenish their numbers. The demons' losses were far greater, but with the human population numbering in billions and humans sinning more than ever they were knocking the angels out of the running by sheer force of reproduction.

Until one day the angels decided to get along with the program. Which, through a series of events, caused the famed Dean Winchester to break the absolute first Rule of Stupidity.

As a consequence of _that,_ Lucifer laughed so hard the entire plane of Hell's existence shook for three days straight. And thus, he allowed the creation of the Seventh Rule of Stupidity.

It went something like this…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...this isn't how this was supposed to go. Dammit, I'm utterly incapable of writing a short story.
> 
> EDIT: Case in point, you might have noticed I keep increasing the final number of chapters. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE-SHOT CRACK, NOT A #%&$?& NOVEL!!!! AAAAAAARGH!!!

"Is it just me, or are there more of these winged dicks around than there's supposed to be?"

Sam pulled the stolen angel blade out of the unfortunate angel's stomach and shrugged. "Well we've been dealing with soldiers so far, maybe they're mobilizing angels from other positions."

"Yeah well I don't like it." Dean grumped as he swung the sword he'd recently gotten from slaying a Grigori. The moment he realized the renegade angel had an actual sword instead of a blade like the Seraphim he called dibs and just about killed the angel with his bare hands. He was a Knight, dammit, he deserved a sword.

Sam spent many days laughing his ass off as an inferior demon sweated bullets while trying to teach Dean how to actually wield the thing properly. To the demon's credit Dean had gotten pretty skilled with it, swinging it with all the grace he'd had when slaying vampires with a machete.

They'd managed to get into the pocket reality angels usually created when they wanted some privacy. This one had been warded so heavily both Sam and Dean had to go up to the surface together to try and break it. Cain had lent Dean the First Blade and Lucifer had actually allowed Sam to drink his blood for this battle. It was different from demon blood in a number of ways, but the first and foremost was that it packed a whole lot more punch than even Dean's.

Dean got Sam to the edge of the barrier and then got the Hell out of there while Sam went supernova. But fair's fair, the wards just about evaporated and the dimension easily opened to let them in.

Breaking in was only half the struggle though. More angels than they had ever encountered poured out and started attacking them like it was their last stand. It had taken every last drop of Lucifer's blood and Dean double wielding to get through them all.

"Or they're protecting something." Instead of finishing off the last angel coming at him, he kicked her in the chest and then drove the sword straight through her shoulder and into the wall behind her. She gave a short, cut off scream and glared at him defiantly.

"Well?" He smirked at her. "Are you?"

She spat in his face.

Sam almost felt sorry for her.

Dean wasn't just a demon. He was a Knight of Hell, and he actually bore the Mark of Darkness. It ranked him even higher than the Knights Cain had originally created, and it meant he was just about on the same level as a Prince of Hell, except worse in some ways.

Torture had long since stopped turning Sam's stomach, but looking at his brother slowly pushing his hand inside the angel's ribcage through her belly, then grasping her vessel's heart and pouring all that dark energy straight into her essence caused the last dregs of Sam's humanity to quiver in terror. Maybe because it was similar to what Lucifer did to him, before he decided Sam could be useful in other ways.

Soon enough black goo started pouring out of the redheaded angel's mouth. She choked on it, likely suffering such pain she barely had the capacity of mind to process it. The only reason she didn't scream was because she couldn't. Sam had seen it all before, and he knew how it was going to end, and he dearly wished he dared to turn his eyes away.

"What are you protecting?" Dean leaned close to her face and whispered almost gently. "Tell me now and I'll end your suffering quick."

She shuddered like a leaf in the wind, but amazingly she didn't back down. She glared at him for all she was worth even as she vomited blackness.

"Damn… you…" She managed to choke out moments before the light of her being was simply extinguished.

The angels _were_ protecting something. And whatever it was, it wasn't just valuable to them. It was _sacred._

"Damn Sammy," Dean grinned as he pulled his sword from her shoulder and let her limp body fall to the ground, "now I really wanna see this thing."

Sam nodded and followed Dean to the door the angels had been so frantic in keeping closed. The lock broke in the elder Winchester's hand and he yanked it open, nearly vibrating in excitement.

It was a little disappointing that the room appeared empty at first glance. But a searching look soon revealed a strange shape in the dark corner. Dean's eyes turned black to be able to see better and he cautiously approached the bundle of bedding. Sam followed right after but still behind him. If it turned out to be dangerous then Dean had better chances of dealing with it.

Dean suddenly stopped with a muttered curse, causing Sam to nearly run into him. He looked over his brother's shoulder to see what caused such a reaction.

It was an egg. A fucking huge egg, with a shell so brilliantly white it was luminous, with just a hint of blue in the dim light.

"Is that what I think it is?" Dean whispered disbelievingly. Sam couldn't blame him, considering he was in a similar position.

An angel egg? With an actual angel inside? The possibilities were unimaginable, and the implications worrying.

"I'm calling Lucifer." Sam put two fingers to his temple and closed his eyes to concentrate.

Dean, meanwhile, had never seen something he was curious about that he didn't want to touch. He'd first found that out as a little boy he no longer remembered being, digging in the yard and playing in the dirt, but he mostly discovered this when he was a teenager itching to get his hands under girls' shirts and squeeze those enticing mounds of flesh that had his hindbrain standing at attention.

So of course the first thing he did was run his hands over the smooth, nearly pearlescent surface of the egg. And the second thing he did was gently cup his hands under it and lift it up.

It was surprisingly heavy. He carefully turned it around a bit, rolled it around and even held it right in front of his stomach and tried to mentally compare the size of the egg with pregnant women.

"What are you doing?" Sam hissed at him, his fingers still at his temple. Dean just shrugged. He figured as long as he didn't break it there was no harm done.

Which was just about the precise moment they both heard an ominous crack.

" _What did you do?!"_ Sam nearly screamed at him through clenched teeth, looking at the long crack that had formed on top of the previously unmarred shell.

" _I don't know!"_ Dean hissed back with equal amounts of panic, just barely stopping himself from pacing or, even worse, _dropping the egg._ It continued cracking all over its surface, slowly breaking apart while Dean stood there in petrified silence and Sam paced around like a panicking chicken.

It would have been an amusing sight if it wasn't so horrifying.

And then the top of the egg broke off and fell to the floor. It would have given Dean a heart attack if he'd still been capable of those, and as it was it was a very close call for Sam. The brothers watched in terrified fascination as a tiny head of slimy black hair and pale skin emerged through the opening, an entirely new angel being born.

They still hadn't managed to move a muscle when the babe opened its eyes, glowing that brilliant blue angel grace had, and looked straight at Dean.

Dean didn't dare blink. Sam held his breath.

After a few seconds the glow subsided and the baby angel's eyes turned into that crystal blue all angel vessels had. Not natural by human standards, but quite common amongst angels. He started to struggle out of the broken egg and only then did Dean dare to cautiously set him on the ground.

"Y'think we should help him?" Dean asked with a dubious grimace as the shell broke apart and revealed the slop of amniotic mucous the angel was covered in.

"I don't know!" Sam yelled desperately. "I didn't even think angels actually _hatched._ They were all supposed to be created by God- Ah, shit, what if _he's_ back? Lucifer's gonna be _so mad!_ "

Sam was on the verge of ripping out his hair and absolutely no help to anyone. Dean sighed and took off his leather jacket, flannel shirt and the T-shirt he had underneath, leaving him bare-chested.

First things first, he lifted the baby out of the egg bottom and proceeded to wipe him (it appeared that at least the vessel was male) with his tee. The gunk stuck to him, especially his hair and downy feathers of his grey wings, but the kid was patient enough as Dean was wiping it off. He didn't cry, thank Lucifer, only made babyish little "mmm" noises whenever Dean ran the cotton cloth over his head and wings.

Oh yeah, he had actual physical wings. This was getting awesomer by the minute!

When he deemed the baby sufficiently dry he wrapped him in his flannel shirt, using the sleeves to make sure it actually stayed on. He left the wings free to weakly twitch in the air, not wanting to crush them.

That done he sat back on his heels with his knees in the air, balancing on his toes as he pulled his jacket back on, since there was no saving his tee. He laid the baby on his tights, hoping he wouldn't roll over and hit his head on the floor.

Lucifer wouldn't exactly be happy if they brought him a retarded angel.

But it seemed angel babies were a lot easier to handle than human babies because this one stayed right where Dean put him where Sam would have rolled right off Dean's lap and on the floor then tried to crawl straight into a shredder.

Come to think of it, no wonder the kid turned out the way he did.

Jacket on, he gently maneuvered the baby to sit on his hip, supporting his butt with one hand and leaving the other free to arrange his sword and blade so they wouldn't cut into any sensitive areas. The last thing they needed was the kid screaming and bringing down the entire building. Windows broke when angels just talked, he did not need to know what a screaming angel sounded like.

Sam finally calmed down, though that was probably because his boyfriend finally picked up the phone. Unfortunately, he had that scrunched look on his face that meant he was talking to their dark lord and he wasn't happy.

Dean winced, already bracing himself for a long session of ass kissing. He could really do without that after a battle that was for all intents and purposes a victory.

A tiny chubby hand suddenly patted his cheek.

"Stop that." Dean grumped and batted the little hand away. It worked for about a second, then the little hand was back and curiously petting his stubble. Dean frowned but allowed it, at least it was keeping the kid calm.

Sam suddenly gave a full body flinch and quickly dropped his hand. He looked at Dean and the angel he was holding with something in between worry and pity.

Definitely not happy.

"Lucifer wants to see us, now." Sam sounded a little breathless as he said it. Dean didn't dally. He just grabbed Sam's arm and teleported them straight to Hell, right in front of the Cage.

They'd barely fully materialized before all three of them were yanked through existence and into the Cage.

That was the weird thing about the reality-bending construct that appeared as an iron wrought cage. It was specifically designed to hold one specific creature. And on a metaphysical scale, that creature was fucking huge. The Cage, when observed as only a masterfully bent collection of wavelengths, was actually full of holes that demon and human souls could very easily slip though. Thus Sam and Dean could enter and leave the Cage as they wished. As long as Lucifer wasn't actively holding them there.

And right then, he was basically squeezing the life out of them.

"What is that abomination?" Lucifer, appearing in his old vessel in the illusion of an iron cage, asked with calmness that was so forced it actually left frost on the bars.

It scared the shit out of Dean, if he were being completely honest with himself.

"W-we thought it was an angel." Sam finally stuttered out. "He hatched from an egg the other angels were protecting, and it _feels_ like he has grace-"

"Give it to me." Lucifer commanded and Dean didn't need to be told twice. He didn't exactly throw the baby at Lucifer but the transfer could have definitely gone smoother.

"Aa-aaah." The little angel whined at the rough handling and immediately started squirming in Lucifer's arms. The Archangel paid him no mind, his attention on the downy grey wings twitching agitatedly from the baby's back. Sam and Dean stood at attention and watched as Lucifer thoroughly examined the squirming bundle in his arms. The cries rose in volume and frequency steadily and Dean's ears had just begun to feel like they were bleeding when Lucifer pressed two fingers to the angel's forehead and put him to sleep.

At least, Dean thought he put him to sleep. He could have just as easily snuffed the life out of him.

"It appears Raphael is much more desperate than I'd previously thought." Lucifer commented, his voice back in that controlled baritone. "If I hadn't seen him myself I'd say this kind of blasphemy was impossible."

"What is impossible, exactly?" Sam dared to ask.

"This," Lucifer handed the baby back to Dean, "is indeed a fledgling angel. But he wasn't made by my father. I'm not sure how, but I'm certain he was made by spinning a human's soul into angel grace."

"What?" Dean knew he had an idiotic expression on his face but he couldn't help it.

"Human souls are extremely versatile." Lucifer explained, a curious expression on his face as he looked at the angel. "They're energy in its rawest form. Angel grace is that same energy in a much bigger quantity, spun a different way. More durable, longer lasting, and rechargeable, but at the basest of materials, they are made of the same stuff. That's why it's possible for an angel and a human to create a nephilim."

"I thought you said he's an angel?" Sam tilted his head at the kid, likely trying to see if he could tell the difference between him and all the other angels he's encountered.

"He is. And not a weak one either, they cobbled quite a lot of souls together to make him." Lucifer nodded. "In a nephilim, angel grace and human soul exist in a precarious equilibrium, so the balance can be reached but not maintained. The angel's grace uses the soul as a spare battery, so you basically get an angel on steroids and absolutely no impulse control."

Dean bit his cheek to refrain from commenting that Lucifer might as well have described himself. From the way he glared at him, he probably read his mind anyway but he hadn't been smited out of existence yet so he counted it as a win.

"This one, on the other hand, has pure angel grace, but he looks like someone cobbled him together from spare parts. He's basically a Frankenstein's monster. And Raphael, if he indeed made him, left the fraying edges loose."

"Meaning?" Dean just wanted to get to the point, he didn't need an entire lesson.

"Meaning he's not a grown angel." Lucifer frowned. "Angels were all created adults. The amount of grace they were given was set, and they couldn't exceed that amount. It could diminish, but that was why angels farm souls, to get recharged. This one has no set limit. Depending on how many souls he absorbs he could become any class of angel. A Malakhim definitely, likely a Seraph." Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "Maybe even an Archangel."

Okay, yeah, now that he got it Dean wasn't sure this was such a good idea.

"So, what?" Dean asked. "We stab him with an angel blade and hope he doesn't blow us all up?"

Lucifer looked at Dean like he was a particularly dumb puppy.

"Wait, would the quality of souls affect how his grace grows?" Sam suddenly cut in.

"Well at least one of you got both looks and brains." Lucifer smirked. "You're on the right track Sammy. If we feed him half demonified souls he's going to absorb that taint and be a creature of Hell. A very powerful one at that."

"But if he has no limit on the amount of power he can handle how can we keep him in check?"

"That's easy." Lucifer smiled that awful smile that meant he was laughing at a joke at somebody else's expense. "Angel grace was designed to attach itself to a focus. Old Man's insurance we would love him unconditionally. But in the absence of God it attached itself to the nearest alternative."

Dean had a bad feeling about this.

"Tell me," Lucifer's eyes positively twinkled with amusement, "who did he see first upon hatching?"

Aw, Hell no!

"You're saying he imprinted on me?!" Dean damn near dropped the kid on his head. "So what, he's gonna follow me around like I'm his momma duck?"

"Something like that." Lucifer was almost laughing outright at him. "And since we don't want to risk the grace he already has purifying the taint of Hell, the souls we feed him will have to go through a medium. Three guesses what's that gonna be."

Even Sam was laughing at him now.

"Yeah, one problem with that," Dean backpedalled as fast as he could, "I've got plenty of juice, but I'd like to avoid being sucked dry. Why can't Sam do it? He's already chomping down demons anyway, his blood's a whole lot more nutritious than mine!"

"Because he's not imprinted on Sam. He wouldn't accept anything from him. Don't worry, you have my express permission to devour souls for the purpose of feeding him. Have Alistair do the ritual for it." Lucifer was half-heartedly hiding his laugh behind his hand in a way that wasn't meant to hide it at all.

Dean sighed and admitted defeat. Well, the kid was small at least. He probably couldn't drink as much blood as Sam anyway, and as long as Sasquatch didn't come nosing at his neck for a snack he guessed this would be okay.

"So, what do we call him?" Dean sighed. Might as well make it official.

"Hmm," Lucifer managed to curb his laughter long enough to look contemplative, "Let's call him Castiel."

Dean looked down at the baby still wrapped up in his flannel, sleeping peacefully now that Dean was holding him.

Well, he'd raised Sam alright, and he was hailed as an Antichrist. How hard could this one be?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like crying when I remember this was supposed to be a short, crack-y story... Now we're three chapters in, and as much as I struggled I couldn't make the story progress faster, and we're not even at the point where I can add the CRACK tag.
> 
> Very efficient of me, isn't it?

Dean really should have known better than to jinx himself.

Lucifer booted him and the newly christened Castiel as soon as the talk was over, then didn't even wait for them to be out of earshot before sticking his tongue down Sam's throat. Enthusiastically, and it didn't sound like Sam was complaining. Demon or not, Dean held that there were sounds he did not need to know his little brother was capable of making.

Anyway, he needed to get the whole battle debrief over with, which meant going first to Crowley with the list of loot and then to Alistair for the ritual. Dean was a little surprised that Lucifer sent him to the torturer instead of Rowena, as she was far better versed in magic. Unfortunately, she also wasn't very discreet and her idea of loyalty was rather… flexible, to say the least. If she didn't come as a package deal with her son Dean suspected Lucifer wouldn't have even bothered. Angels had already shown they were pulling all stops when it came to Castiel, they wouldn't think it below them to try and bribe her.

Alistair on the other hand was one of Lucifer's most loyal, likely THE most loyal now that Azazel was dead, not to mention he hadn't left Hell in centuries, and though his expertise were curses he would likely have little problem doing the ritual required.

Anyway, Dean went to Crowley's office first with Castiel sleepily blinking in his arms. Upon realizing it was Dean who held him once again and not the scary Archangel he clutched at Dean's jacket and buried his face in his collarbone. Sighing, the Knight of Hell just patted him gently on the back and glared at anyone who dared to look at him for even a second longer than it took to avoid him.

"Ahh, Squirrel." Crowley called with a put-upon sigh when Dean let himself in by kicking the doors open. Crowley didn't even deign to look up. "Would it be too much to hope you've actually filled in the necessary forms this time and we can skip to the part where you leave?"

"Don't need a form." Dean rolled his eyes and hefted Castiel higher on his hip. "This is the only thing we got."

The flutter of Castiel's fluffy wings got Crowley's attention. He not only stopped writing in one of those literally infernal ledgers he loved so much, he actually looked up at what Dean was holding. His eyes widened in amazement.

"My, my, never thought I'd see one of these." Crowley came around the desk to examine the little angel more closely. "How did you even find one? I thought the big G would keep a better eye on his new toys."

"For a start he's not one of God's, he's one of Raphael's." Dean paused to let that sink in. "Lucifer says he was cobbled together from human souls spun into grace or some shit. Depending on how much we feed him he's gonna grow up to be as strong as Lucy."

"Ooh, very interesting indeed." Crowley, well, _crowed._ "Well, give it here; let's see what do I write him down as."

Dean glared at him suspiciously but in the end figured that if Crowley tried anything he was no match for a Knight of Hell. He detached Castiel from his jacket and almost succeeded in handing him over into Crowley's hands when the kid opened his mouth and _screamed._

Every single item with a crystalline structure instantly shattered, including the diamond paperweight on Crowley's neatly stacked paperwork. Every single entity in Hell stopped whatever they'd been doing, including Lucifer, whom Sam nearly mauled for stopping mid thrust before the sound registered, and just froze for a few seconds listening to the most horrifying scream they'd ever heard, and coming from the denizens of Hell that was really saying something.

Back in Crowley's office Dean hastily snatched Castiel back from Crowley and like magic the screaming stopped, leaving only quiet whimpers behind.

"He seems fond of you." Crowley said mildly once their ears stopped ringing.

"Yeah, seems like baby angels are like ducks: they imprint on the first person they see." Dean kept petting Castiel's back and wings, almost desperately trying to discourage another tantrum. He knew from raising Sam that he was basically teaching him to get what he wanted by screaming but that was an issue to be addressed later.

"Well then, I think this little show has told me everything I need to know." Crowley twirled, yes, literally twirled, around and back to his desk, primly sat down and pulled out yet another ledger. "But as he doesn't seem fond of talking and I don't see any forms on you, we still need to get the formalities over with." He asked when the battle had been over, time of acquisition, time spent in transit, material losses and all that boring stuff that made Dean want to stick an ice pick in his ear but he had to go through it all because Crowley was a fucking bureaucrat.

Castiel remained quiet and still throughout the debrief, which was a good thing because Dean's patience was fraying with every uppity remark Crowley uttered. If the baby had decided to throw another tantrum Dean might have just thrown _him_ , and then Lucifer would have been pissed and shit would hit the fan and all that annoying stuff.

By the time they were done Dean was gnashing his teeth and dearly wishing he was allowed to stick the Secretary's head on a stake. And usually, he would know better than to go see Alistair pissed off but he just wanted to get the day over with then find someone to dump the angel off on so he could find some unfortunate soul to string up and vent his frustrations out on.

And unfortunately for him, Alistair was in the middle of breaking in the soul of that war veteran that had been on his rack for almost fifty years already and was still refusing to pick up a knife. Alistair had high hopes for him breaking soon, and had in fact been doing that seductive-whisper thing that had so long ago finally worked on Dean when the Knight of Hell walked in.

"Hey Al, need you do a ritual for me." Dean barged in in his usual way, paying zero to no attention to what Alistair had been doing. It was his first mistake.

"Dean, I am working." Alistair said in a tone more reminiscent of a parent whose child had interrupted their work than the lead torturer of the three deepest circles of Hell.

"Orders from below." Dean stuck his hip out to bring the attention to his miniature passenger. "That last raid got us a baby angel, we need to feed him souls of the damned to corrupt him and turn him into Hell's weapon, yadda yadda, and for that we need to power him up like we do Sam, and for _that_ you need to do a ritual that lets me eat souls so I can feed him."

By the look on Alistair's face the demon was clearly asking him if he'd gone off his rocker. Dean was more worried about the fact that the man on the rack was wearing a similar expression, but come on! This was his third time repeating the same goddamn story, what did they expect it to sound like?

"And why, exactly, couldn't Rowena do it?" Alistair finally put the knife down and wiped his bloody hands on a rag, so he was paying attention at least.

"Lucifer's orders. Didn't exactly stick around to ask, and I'm pretty sure even he couldn't talk properly with his tongue in Sam's ass." Alistair looked at him with mild disgust and despair, looking for all the world like he dearly wished to get John Winchester back on his rack and classify his child rearing techniques as a mortal sin.

"This this couldn't wait because…?"

"Because I've been dragging this brat around all day, I've just been to see Crowley and I really need to rip into something before I start screaming." Dean deadpanned, then looked at the confused veteran. "Speaking of which, mind letting me have a go at him?"

Now Alistair properly glared at him. If it had been anyone but Dean he would have just stuck a scalpel in their eye socket, but he was almost un-demonically fond of his pupil so he could get away with a lot of things that would get other demons killed. Like suggesting they take away even one soul from his rack. But even for Dean it was a fine line. Second mistake.

"I assume this is the reason for our Lord's request?" Alistair gestured to the baby angel still stubbornly hiding his face in Dean's collarbone. Dean nodded. "Well if you want me to do a ritual for anything you need to stand in the spell circle _alone_ , so get someone to watch him while I prepare things."

"Yeah, that might be a problem." Dean hefted the angel higher on his hip when he started slipping. "I tried to hand him to Crowley to examine. You might have heard what that resulted in."

"The screaming?" Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I'd been wondering who that was. I can give you a potion to knock him out, but I'm not certain it will work on an angel. Haven't really had any to work on."

"Well it better work, or we're gonna have to find a muzzle in baby size."

Alistair didn't even dignify that with a response. He just waved his hand in a 'wait here' motion at Dean and disappeared into his affectionately nicknamed "Atrocity Archives", where Alistair kept spare tools and his spell tomes. The Knight of Hell sighed and absently dragged a stool closer with his foot and slumped into it gracelessly. Castiel automatically adjusted himself on Dean's lap and curled up as small as he could, like he was trying to hide himself in Dean's belly.

Three seconds later he concluded that was an excellent idea and tried to crawl inside Dean's jacket.

"Stop that." Dean muttered for the umpteenth time that day, with the ever dwindling hope he would actually be obeyed. Not wanting another screaming fit he didn't try and stop the angel, but he didn't help him either, leaving him to try and figure out how the zipper worked and whether he would even fit it the small space between leather and skin.

"He yours?" Dean almost couldn't place where the raspy voice came from but he noticed the man on the rack looking at him. He was bleeding out of various holes in his body, including his mouth, but there was still that spark of stubbornness in his eyes that delighted as much as it annoyed Alistair. But it was gradually being replaced with weariness, and once the man broke it would be replaced with bloodlust and manic glee, the tar to blacken his soul with.

Right now though, he was so ripped up Dean was impressed he managed to speak. He was staring at Castiel, now trying to do a somersault over the zipper and into the confines of Dean's jacket.

"I guess he is." Dean shrugged. "I killed everyone who might be looking for him so that does kinda' make him mine."

The veteran looked at him in horror. Dean wasn't sure why, he must have seen worse in Hell. Hell, worse must have been done to him.

"A child?" He stubbornly rasped. "Why is… in Hell…?"

"Well he's an angel." Dean said conversationally. He was rapidly losing his dignity by allowing a baby to use him as a jungle gym, scaring a soon-to-be newbie was the least he could do to regain it. "We're gonna pump him full of demon juice then leave him on the Heaven's doorstep. When they open the door and bring him in he's gonna go kablooey." Dean even waved his hand in an appropriately dramatic effect. "And no more Heaven." It wasn't even that far from the truth.

The veteran gasped in horror, then choked on his own blood. By the time he regained his wits Castiel had found a way to squeeze himself into the desired space. His toes were peeking out from under the jacket and his head from the top but he'd managed to plaster his wings to his back tight enough that they fit along with him. He'd pulled the zipper up as far as it would go, so only his toes and hair stuck out. The end result made Dean look like a Haloween caricature of a pregnant man.

The sooner he could dump the brat off on Lucifer the better.

"Monsters…" Oh look, the rack meat was trying to speak again. It was getting annoying. "Despicable… to do that… to a child…"

"That's how things are done down here." Dean flashed him a pearly white grin. "You'll come around soon enough. Maybe you'll even get one of your own to blow up."

It was a lie of course, they had no idea if Raphael managed to make any others, but it was worth it to see the look on the man's face.

And that was the mistake that buried him.

"Here we are." Alistair chose that moment to walk back in, carrying leather bound parchment tome. All human skin of course. "I found a ritual that would work, but I need you to gather the ingredients."

"Can't you get one of your lackeys to do that? I need to rip something apart." Dean did not whine. Of course not.

Alistair looked up from his reading to give him the 'you better do it young man' look when he noticed that the angel disappeared and Dean gained some prominent weight in his stomach area. He raised a questioning eyebrow at his former pupil but Dean just glared back, daring him to say a word. Alistair's lip quirked in amusement.

"As it just so happens, I do not have that potion I was thinking of. If you do not want him screaming I suggest you take him with you."

Dean sighed, realizing it was punishment for annoying his mentor. He didn't complain, he was just about the only one who could get away with annoying him and only end up as the designated errand boy. Anyone else would have had their tongue ripped out. Or worse: sent to Crowley.

So he grumbled but he took the list and he went. He tried to fish Castiel out of his jacket but the little brat had just about glued himself there and even pulling the zipper down abruptly didn't help. Dean was just about ready to shoot anything that moved, much less looked at him in bewilderment as they saw him walking with a giant bulge under his jacket, one hand under it to make sure Castiel didn't fall out.

One demon saw the bump and his expression then dared to say something about pregnancy making women murderous, so Dean murdered him. Then he was given a wide berth, and he just about stabbed someone again when he realized it was a pun.

He could hear Sam moaning and begging half a ring away, so he couldn't even hand the angel off to Lucifer.

"I'm starting to think you're more trouble than you're worth." Dean said to Castiel, now happily kicking his heels atop Dean's shoulders, as Dean was bleeding the priest he'd suspended in the air by his ankles. The angel didn't seem bothered by the carnage at all, judging by the way he happily nuzzled into Dean's hair. The Knight of Hell briefly wondered why that was. He decided to ask Lucifer when they swapped little brothers.

Saint's blood was the last item on the list, and by the time they returned to Hell with their spoils Castiel had actually fallen asleep on his own. It was a little worrisome since Dean knew angels slept about as much as demons.

Well, worrisome or not, it made things easier for Dean. He bundled Castiel up into his jacket, unconcerned that it left him bare-chested, and left him on top of a tool cart that wasn't too bloody. He would see him if something decided to take a bite out of him but it would leave him alone for the ritual.

Alistair had already drawn the arcane circle on the floor when Dean appeared.

"Ah, Dean." Alistair's voice was welcoming in a way that raised every hair on Dean's body. "Stand in the smallest circle there, I'll be with you shortly."

Dean looked at the circle suspiciously. As far as he could tell it was for the correct spell, but he knew shit all about rituals, only enough to recognize that it didn't have a curse subtly woven into it. So, against every instinct screaming at him, he stood where he was supposed to.

Alistair lit the candles at the points of the pentagram, put chalices with the correct herbs in the necessary spots, then dipped his fingers in a bowl with Saint's blood and started drawing symbols on Dean's chest.

"…just what kind of ritual is this?" Dean cautiously asked. He had a sneaking suspicion…

"It will allow you to imbibe the soul energy and accept it as your own. I've made some adjustments, as the whole point is for you to transfer that energy to someone else."

"What kind of adjustments?" Dean asked. Now that suspicion was slowly becoming a panic.

Unfortunately, Alistair smirked. "You'll see soon."

Dean was three seconds from bolting at that point. Unfortunately three seconds was far more than Alistair needed to spark fire in all the chalices simultaneously, and the chalk circle glowed, the symbols on Dean's chest burned, in the background Alistair chanted ominously and the glow spread all throughout Dean's vision until white was all he saw.

And then… no more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wanted to finish this and then post it because I clearly have absolutely no idea where this thing is going, and certainly not how long it's gonna be, but that strategy's working even worse than my previous one so... Have a chap. I think t's been pretty obvious where I've been going with this. If not, read the (finally added) tags.

Dean was an idiot. Worse, as far as Hell was concerned, and he couldn't even say he disagreed with them right now, he was too stupid to live.

The things he said to the man on the rack. Alistair had been breaking him in for damn near five decades, and Dean had gone and opened his mouth and messed with him, then he just left without realizing Alistair was probably foaming at the mouth when he started working on him again, and the idiot started blabbing about exploding cupids.

Even the fucking _baby demons_ knew about the rules of stupidity. The first thing a newbie was told by their mentor, by their bosses, by their handlers, by every single passing demon who happened to overhear that they were new around here was this: Here's a list of rules you absolutely do not break. If you lose the list, there's one in the main hall. But for the love of Lucifer, whatever you do, don't break them.

It wasn't like Dean didn't piss off Alistair before, even not counting the time he was tied to the demon's rack. He was mostly just sent to do something he hated but did anyway because it was always a good idea to stay in one's mentor's good graces. Dean was valuable as a Knight of Hell, but that just meant Alistair couldn't damage him irreparably if Dean was stupid enough to _break the fucking first rule of stupidity_.

Sam was going to laugh his fucking ass off, that motherfucker.

There was something on his chest.

Dean, with great reluctance and an air of 'am I gonna regret this?', opened his eyes. He must have fallen down when the spell was completed because he found himself staring straight at the ceiling. So he lifted his head with a groan and found himself face to face with unnaturally blue eyes.

There was an angel on his chest, and fucking Hell, did he get turned into a Bill Murray song?

Said angel tilted his head at him in a birdlike fashion, then raised his hand and, with amazing dexterity for what looked to be a one-year-old, touched his nose with his index finger.

"Boop!" He exclaimed then sat back on Dean's chest looking extremely self satisfied.

"He was crying for you." Alistair's voice snapped Dean out of his confusion. "This was the easiest way to shut him up that didn't involve gutting him."

Dean grabbed the kid and shot up, quickly assessing his state. The symbols Alistair drew on his chest had disappeared, but as far as he could tell he had the correct number of extremities and everything was the right color. Dean shot a look at Alistair, who was borderline _cheerful_ as he put everything back in its place.

Lucifer help him, he was _screwed._

"Sooo…" Dean stalled. "Any specifics I need to know about?"

"You need to ingest the souls of the damned that have already been tainted by Hell but haven't turned yet. Just like inhaling smoke." Alistair said without even turning to look at him. "Speaking of, you can have the veteran after all. My treat."

Scratch that. He was screwed sideways, _six ways to Sunday_. Yes, it was just that fucking poetic.

Doing his best not to clutch the angel to his chest like a kid with a teddy bear he walked out of the room making about as much noise as a mouse. Alistair didn't turn around once, but Dean had known him long enough to know he was smirking like a cat who knew the mouse was already caught.

At this point he could probably write a book on all the ways he was fucked. He'd title it Karma Sutra. And since he was already on that topic, he might as well figure out which piece of furniture to bend over first.

Castiel probably had no idea what got Dean's panties in a bunch but he was smart enough to notice that his guardian was upset. With an adorably confused pout on his face he once again reached up and poked Dean on the nose with his finger.

"Boop!" He said with stubborn determination.

"Stop that." Dean sighed, wondering why he even bothered any more. He came up to the rack upon which Alistair's veteran still hung, now noticeably more damaged. He didn't even seem aware of the angel and demon standing in front of him. Had Dean still been able to feel pity, this was the scene that might have roused that emotion in him.

As it was, it was more along the lines of 'better you than me buddy'.

Steeling his nerves he raised his hand and concentrated. The Hell he perceived along with the rest of its inhabitants was just an oddly realistic optical illusion. They didn't actually have physical bodies down here, just light bent over energy that imitated its refraction off actual matter. All one had to do was move their point of perception and they would see Hell for what it truly was.

So the man on the rack transformed into glowing white smoke, condensed into something akin to dandelion fluff, shot through with black tar. Dean sucked in air and the glow obediently followed the current. The soul burned on the way down like particularly fine whisky and gave a pleasant shivery feeling as it settled in his belly. It was exhilarating.

The only downside was that it made his chest hurt.

Dean absentmindedly rubbed at his pec and wondered where the Hell his jacket had gone. Castiel was still wrapped up in his flannel shirt but the leather jacket he bundled him up in was missing. With a groan he realized it was probably still on top of the cart he left the angel on during the ritual. Going back for it would mean being in the same room as Alistair.

Well, not like he had anything Hell hadn't seen before.

So once again he went around shirtless with an angel attached to his hip, and it was a sad day in the afterlife of Dean Winchester when there was absolutely nothing dirty about that sentence. He snatched ripe souls from whatever torture machine they'd been strung up on. Again and again, the energizing rush pooled in his belly and gave the strange sensation of goosebumps, a mix-but-not-quite of orgasm, driving in the Impala and a bite of the perfect apple pie.

It would have been perfect, if his chest hadn't been burning worse and worse.

As the pain was first centered on his left pec Dean thought it was his body's reaction to having foreign energy swirling around it, and it was manifesting in a way he knew how to interpret: namely, heartburn.

But the dull, burning pain had spread from his collarbones to almost the middle of his ribcage. Some ten souls later Dean had to stop his binge to duck into a dark corner and lean against the wall. His chest was actually throbbing now, and he cursed as he tried to rub the ache away.

Castiel, who had started nodding off somewhere around soul number seven, tiredly rose his head to look at what his demon was doing. Wanting to help he patted Dean’s chest in much the same way as he did his face. And, miracle of all miracles, it actually worked. Dean nearly moaned in relief when the pressure abruptly eased. Maybe there was something about an angel’s healing touch-

His chest was wet.

Abruptly remembering Alistair’s jovial mood as he sent him on his way, Dean had a horrible, _horrible,_ sneaking suspicion just what had his mentor done to him, but he didn’t want to damn himself quite yet and actually _look down._

Castiel had no such compunctions however. He saw his fingers were wet with some kind of white liquid and he did as babies usually do: he put his fingers in his mouth.

He decided he liked it.

He decided he wanted more.

And it turned out the source was perfectly close to his mouth.

* * *

 

“Okay, _that_ scream was definitely Dean.” Sam hastily got out of the bed Lucifer conjured for them and started wobbling in the direction of his pants. “I should really check out what’s he gotten himself into.”

“You do realize your brother is likely the third most powerful demon in this joint, right?” Lucifer propped himself up on his elbow to watch his handiwork with a smirk.

“And knowing him he managed to piss off both of them. He hasn’t screamed like that since that ghost had him under the fear curse.” Sam pulled up his underwear with a pained grunt, carefully not bending over with his back to Lucifer because he really did need to check up on Dean and getting dragged back to bed for another round was counterproductive to that goal.

Lucifer sighed his patented ‘woe is me’ sigh and rolled on his back, blatantly putting everything he had on display. “Unless he managed to break the Rules of Stupidity I think he can handle himself at least until you’re not limping anymore. But if you insist, you know where to find me when you figure out he’s fine.”

Sam gulped but stubbornly pulled the rest of his clothes on. Right, Rules of Stupidity. Sam knew damn well what the unofficial seventh rule was, and no matter how much Alistair liked Dean he wouldn’t hesitate to screw him over if Dean pissed him off.

This was Hell after all.

It was a bit of work to collar a demon that knew where Dean was and managed to stop gibbering in fear of Sam long enough to actually get the desired information out of him. Sometimes his reputation served him well. Sometimes, not so much, but Sam wasn't going to tell them that these days, when he was feeling like grabbing a bite he just went to Dean. Of course his brother mocked him about it endlessly, once even leaving his blood in a baby bottle for Sam to find but so far he hadn't said no when Sam asked. Plus his blood was fucking delicious.

Yes, Sam knew they were completely screwed up. Your point?

He finally found him on Earth in one of the 'safe houses' where demons usually brought creatures they couldn't drag into Hell to torture. Dean was sitting in one of those interrogator chairs that were plush just to be ostentatious, in a new leather jacket and holding the sleeping baby angel with a haunted look on his face.

"Dean, what did you do?" Sam cut to the chase.

"Hey, Sam." Dean gulped without even looking up at his brother. "Grab a seat, you're gonna need it."

Shit, this was serious. Sam's mind was going a mile a minute as he grabbed one of the bloody wooden chairs over and straddled it facing Dean. He gave him a through once-over but he had no visible injuries, and the angel's right wing twitched once or twice, so he was alive and apparently unharmed.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked more gently. Demon blood aside he was still human, somewhere deep down inside. Very, very deep. Still, it counted for something.

"Sam," Dean looked up at him with a glare that still couldn't mask how unsettled he was. "if you laugh I swear I'll rip your tongue out and shove it up your ass so far not even Lucifer will be able to find it."

"Right." Sam nodded, now even more concerned, but not for himself. "What happened?"

Dean winced and rubbed at his breastbone with the heel of his palm. Then he froze and went fucking _scarlet_ in the face.

Sam just raised an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly.

"I did something stupid…" Dean began haltingly. Sam nodded. Dean just looked uncomfortable. " _Really_ stupid."

It took Sam a second to get it.

"…Which rule?" Sam asked wearily, cautiously hoping that Dean was Earthside because he was hiding from Hellhounds.

Dean glared at his brother in a silent 'you really gonna make me spit it out, won'cha?' when Castiel stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at Sam curiously for a moment before he turned to Dean and started patting his chest in a silent demand.

"Stop that." Dean reprimanded him tiredly but didn't even try to stop the angel. Sam watched in helpless fascination and dawning horror as Castiel tugged open Dean's jacket to reveal pectorals that looked like Dean had been bench-pressing cement trucks. At least at first glance.

Then Castiel latched onto one reddened nipple, settled in Dean's arms and started sucking contentedly.

Sam could pinpoint that as the exact moment his brain decided to do a fantastic impression of a Windows Vista by immediately displaying the Blue Screen of Death, with a similarly flashing message he'd absolutely hated seeing in his youth:

**_Error. Does not compute._ **

It didn't even occur to him to ask just why the everloving fuck was Dean suddenly sporting a pair of D-cups, or if he was actually nursing a baby angel and not just pretending, or even a simple goddamn _how?_ No, there was only one thing going on in the brain of one Sam Winchester, the Boy King, Lucifer's favorite, as he watched his very male brother breastfeeding.

"Can I try some of that?"

A second later he was wondering if that meant he had an Oedipus or Elektra complex. Because he certainly wasn't right in the head, but what else was new?

Dean looked at his little brother with such a scandalized expression it was a miracle he wasn't clutching his pearls. Probably because he wasn't wearing one. But in want of a pearl necklace he settled on clutching Castiel to his chest, which made him swallow down the wrong pipe. A second later he was coughing out white fluid so that answered one of the questions Sam didn't have the brainpower to ask.

For his part, Dean just glared at Sam and patted Castiel's feathery back. After a few more coughs he was settled and back to drinking his lunch without paying Sam an ounce of attention the whole time.

"I'll pretend I misheard that and if the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with my chest I'll do to you what I did to Detroit." Dean growled at Sam.

Considering Detroit had recently become nothing more than micronized sand during one of Dean's bouts of 'angel weeding' Sam decided it was probably best to stop drooling.

Finally he managed to hotwire a few braincells into starting just as Castiel was done. The baby angel let go with a satisfied smack and started blowing milk bubbles as Dean was fixing his jacket. Then when Dean hauled him up on his shoulder to burp him he hugged the demon around his neck and cooed happily.

It was disgustingly adorable.

And Sam? Sam suddenly stopped caring how his brother got into this predicament, how to get him out of it, who to kill for it or anything at all.

There is only one sacred thing to Sam Winchester, and that's his brother.

That angel just declared war.

And Sam fought dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose the question of Sam's complex would be best answered by 'depends on what you view Dean as'. He already had a dad, absent as he was, and I sincerely doubt he had any other maternal figures in his life. Therefore, Dean was the closest thing to a mother figure he had. Thus, it is Oedipus complex.
> 
> Case closed!


End file.
